Alrighty. I think I've got this part going now.
Deadline for this mission is May 25 - which should be a Monday, so you have the whole weekend for Last Minutes.


This is not an easy mission to begin, so I'll give you a couple starters:
Max your lasers and shields, and head back toward the Odin.
Set your speed to 1/3 and build your shields to full.
When the CRVs come in launch two pair of missiles at each.
Switch to your ions and disable them.


Now... If it were only that easy.
The Good News is it gets worse from here.
...oh...wait...that would be the Bad News.
...I guess there IS no good news.
...oh, well...


Enjoy the story.
Y'all did more than half of it. I enjoyed your part immensely! And now you get to see how *I* do things - the fiction I received is now permanently part of the tour. The more you give me, and the more you stay inside the lines, the better I'll be able to give you a bigger part.
I did some editing to fix spelling and sentence structure, but I don't believe I deviated from what you intended.

I'll be trying to get the TIE submission out tomorrow - I had to spend too much time today trying to recover files I'd accidently deleted. I think the TIE files got deleted too. ...Senior Moment.


|=/(:"
Castor Efrata-Landis, Admiral


Data Log: Lt Jr. Tex Antilles

Previously of the Active Reserve Wing, Tex was reassigned from that duty to the Rebel Squadrons following a training incident that left two other members of his flight dead. Though no proof was laid on Tex he felt he could no longer serve as a part of the ARW any longer. His transfer to front line service was accepted quicker than he anticipated. This was a major surprise as he expected a long wait from Reserve to Active. That was until his mission chit came in, with bugger all information included, according to Tex. All he knew was to report in and see his new CO. Otherwise all mission specifics had a So-Classified-As-To-Warrant-Your-Death-If-A-Part-Of-This-Info-Got-To-You-Now status.

Tex now had to head out to the Odin, a refurbed MC80 Mon Cal.

Upon arrival Tex was stunned to see how the interior was completely different and rebuilt with larger fighter capacity and workshop room. His next surprise was to see the size of the med-staff, many more than most planet based medical facilities that the Rebellion had.
Tex knew that something was well and truly up.

After being assigned his quarters which were no more than twenty meters from a hanger and med-bay Tex simply had ten or so hours to kill prior to his initial briefing which he hoped would answer at least some questions as to what was going on with such a top secret mission.

With that in mind Tex headed to the pilots lounge, which so far seemed to have no name, a very odd thing on board any Rebel ship, most ships lounges had a nickname that generally showed the character of the ship and pilots. Here Tex saw several pilots most who seemed to know each other, but many still who kept separate either like him, new, or simply preferring their own council as to what was up.

Tex decided he fitted better with the latter right now and found a table away from the main hub of pilots. After ordering his first drink he tried to figure out what was so bloody secret, but nothing aside from a nagging feeling that this was a suicide run found purchase in his mind. After his third, his mind wandered back ten months ago to that training flight through the canyons near his base, the feel of the gee forces from atmosphere flying that you almost forget when flying in space, sudden turns around hair pin corners then the sudden alert on screen that scrambled his nav and controls, Polar Leader calling to abort the run, Polar Two screaming about control problems, Polar Three screaming before his z-95 hit the canyon wall, Polar Two suddenly cut off as his z-95 bellied the bottom of the canyon. …Tex shook his head and left his table heading out, several pilots looked at him as he left all with strange expressions as if knowing what he was thinking and all concerned over what looked like a weak link.

Back in his room Tex took a quick shower then decided to sleep, he took out a tablet that allowed up to seven hours sleep before waking. That would do nicely with eight hours left till first call.

*****

Data Log: Jairo “El Duro” Pantoja

Jairo Pantoja saw the bulletin requesting help on his datapad email system, he felt very worried about the threats and the impacts this can cause to the RS. From the FireClaw headquarters, he choose to offer his help personally to Spokes and Castor, so he decided to get to the Odin to report in.

-=Aboard the MC80a Star Cruiser Odin, location classified=-
:CO´s Office:

...Reporting in to Admirals Castor and Spokes, he saluted.
“I´m MGN Jairo "El Duro" Pantoja, Fireclaw #3, Ragnarok #12 squads! I saw your message, so I came here to your office to offer my help personally, I have the experience on risks assessments and risk analysis, so I think I can help on the issue of the threats to the RS.

“I have a plan to try to get more information: first, we need to know which area/assets of the RS are vulnerable to the threats; find more info about what the threats, suspicions and worries are all about; to make an analysis of the risk scenarios and find the probability and the impact of these scenarios; to find, finally, if these threats are from the outside or the inside of the RS - I hope not, but the percentage of internal threats are dangerously increasing.

“I put myself ready for your commands. I have the approval from my commander, and a message from him to offer his help also.”
Jairo waited, now hoping for a positive response from the Admirals....

*****

Data log: Remus Qui Nyine

RS 1st Lieutenant Remus Qui Nyine saw where he was needed. Let it be known, he didn't really give a nerf’s backside about everything going on around him. However, Remus knew what he had to do... help the to greatest, well respected Admiral's of all... Spokes and Castor. He went and scheduled passage to the Odin so he could report.

Which really wasn't all that difficult.

Upon arrival, Remus found the Admirals on the bridge. “Reporting in Admiral's Castor and Spokes." He saluted. “I heard you needed a little help...and while I would normally care less, as I don't have any experience with the threats going on, etc. I know that it's the right thing to do. Anyway, I think I've got a plan... what we need to do is... make sure we do WHAT were supposed to be doing in the first place... and I'll stay here to make sure that happens. I think I've got the approval of my squad CO, Damon.”

Remus saluted Castor and Spokes... waiting for a response. Finally, both nodded and Spokes said, “Very well. Dismissed for now, Lieutenant.”

*****

Data Log: Andrew Astoris

The message had been both short and cryptic. Even now, as he looked at it, he couldn't believe that he was obeying the directions given. He was sitting in the cockpit of a Lambda-class shuttle, hurtling through hyperspace. The bland-faced pilot next to him stared straight ahead, hiding her agitation that her passenger had insisted on sitting with her in the cockpit. He read the message again, just to satisfy himself that it was as undetailed as he remembered it: Captain Astoris, Your presence is requested for an operation of the utmost importance. Signed, Admiral Efrata-Landis.

A short post script had instructed him to leave his vessel on Ord Mantell and board an unmarked shuttle there for an unknown destination. And that was it. It was nothing short of ludicrous that the man had blindly followed the directions. What did he know of this operation? Why did he have to leave his ship behind? He didn't have an answer. He knew only one thing: that the note had come from Admiral Castor Efrata-Landis fascinated him.

Captain Andrew Astoris had, of course, never met Efrata-Landis, but the name was unmistakable. Andrew's uncle had mentioned the Admiral frequently enough back in the days -- well, nevermind about that. What his uncle had said about Efrata-Landis had convinced the young Andrew that he would like to meet the man some day. The invitation had come out of the blue, but somehow Andrew had known he would have to accept it.

So here Andrew was, without his ship, without his friends, quite alone with some dull block of a woman flying a shuttle to take him to some undisclosed location. Andrew again groused to himself about how ludicrous it all was. But then, suddenly, the shuttle decelerated into real space. Taking up almost the entire viewscreen was an enormous blob of a cruiser. They had apparently arrived at their destination.

Andrew descended the shuttle's boarding ramp alone. As he emerged into the hangar bay, he must have made a strange sight. In a hangar bustling with activity, he was the only individual not wearing a uniform. His dark hair was cut short, which fit in, but luxuriously styled with gels and bronze highlights, which certainly did not fit. His clothing was clean but casual, of a cut familiar to spacers from his region of the galaxy. He wore a DL-44 blaster in a thigh-holster on his left leg. His gait was ambling rather than formal. He was greeted by a protocol droid, of the type ubiquitous in government service throughout the galaxy.

"Master Astoris, I am K2-PO, the assistant to Admiral Efrata-Landis. You will come with me."

Andrew nodded his assent briefly, and the thing began.

-----

"I am in need of a few good pilots," Castor said, after Andrew had taken a seat in his office.

"I'm not a pilot. I'm a captain," Andrew replied. "But then again, you knew that, right?"

Castor gazed at him knowingly. "I am in need of a few good men."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Andrew asked.

"I need people that are capable in many areas - flying fighters, captaining vessels, hand to hand combat," Castor explained without really explaining.

Andrew eyed Castor, then broke into a smile. "The old man said you were enigmatic. Well, Admiral, it appears he was right again."

"When was the last time you spoke with your uncle?" Castor asked.

"Years ago. Uncle has never got along well with the black sheep of the family," Andrew explained, sounding defensive.

"Your uncle is one of the best officers I know, and a dear friend. That said, just because he isn't speaking to you doesn't mean you can't be useful to me. I want you in this task force."

"You realize," Andrew began somewhat drolly, "that I am not a part of your military."

"I realize that. You would be given a temporary commission," Castor countered.

"I have a problem with authority," Andrew laughed.

"So do I." Castor looked quite serious.

"I am not a good pilot. I get by on my luck and sheer audacity. You'll never meet a cheekier and more impulsive fellow."

Castor smiled. "That's exactly what we need."

"What's in it for me? I run for money, you know. I'm not in this for your revolution. My family's split in its loyalties. Aunt Mairin works for the Imps. Uncle Dave, as you know, works for you. I work for no one but myself." Andrew smiled roguishly.

"You will be paid for your service," Castor began, "but I won't lie. It will be pretty terrible pay. You will do this however, because you feel like you need to be a part of it. I have seen it." He looked at Andrew knowingly.

Andrew squirmed a little, uncomfortable with this revelation. But he could not deny its accuracy. As much as he wanted to demand buckets full of money for joining some military outfit, he felt like he would do it for nothing. On one level, that irritated him. On another level, it beckoned him seductively. He had lived much of his life acting on impulse, and that wasn't going to stop now. He grinned. "Let's roll the die, Admiral. Count me in."

-----

After Andrew had left, Castor picked up his datapad. He made a note to have a temporary commission drawn up for Andrew. He briefly reviewed the letter of recommendation from his friend, Dave Trebonious-Astoris. It was not positive. Castor deleted it. Dave might dislike his nephew, might warn against his independent and rebellious nature all he wanted, but Castor knew that Andrew had something to contribute. He opened his third list of candidates, those who were underachieving but auspicious, and checked off Andrew's entry.

[OOC Note: Andrew Astoris is the nephew of my character Dave Trebonious-Astoris, being the son of his sister Jarla. As will hopefully come out more in future narratives, Andrew is young at only 23, and lives the life of a rogue, whose legal status is generally questionable. This has earned Dave's disapproval, and the two are estranged.]

*****

Data Log: Damon Lightwind
-=Maintenance Bay, Asteroid base (AS – 11642) Secret llocation=-

Hidden deep with in an asteroid belt it was just another normal day on AS – 11642; more commonly known as the The Rock by those who are stationed here. The sounds of fighters well as other space craft departing and arriving could be heard from the adjacent main hangar.

At times the repair noises were drowned out as many were diligently working on various fighters and equipment. All were focused on their tasks at hand, all but one person who seamed to be distracted by the hangar noises at times.

As each wave of noise came then went a scruffy looking young man stopped and gazed in the direction of the hangar. He didn’t have the normal appearance that one would expect an officer to have. His hair was down just past his shoulders when not tied back and he also had a scraggly full beard. As the next wave of noise came from the hangar he just smiled and closed his eyes as if lost in the moment. If not one of his droids getting his attention from time to time he’d surely continue to be lost in his daze.

“Captain Lightwind….. Sir….. Captain?” A junky looking protocol droid calls out. A multi-colored dumpy looking astro droid could also be heard beeping and chirping wildly from behind it as well.

“Patch how many times do I have to tell you call me Damon! I’m not worthy of my rank! I’ve been grounded, remember? And, Scrappy! Enough with the beeping already!” He snapped back angrily at the two droids. It had been several months since Damon last flew a mission because he went against protocol and broke formation.

Damon didn’t care for rules much especially when they seemed to get in the way. Of course to him this was more apparent when he deemed those rules were going to cost more lives than save them, as originally intended.

Damon was often a magnet for finding trouble weather he was looking for it or not. In most cases he also had a knack for eventually getting out of it as well. Unlike the rest who were stationed here his relationship with the General was more complex than most actually knew. It was because of that fact he knew that his grounding had nothing to do with following protocols.

It was mainly because of the many arguments he had with the General. He also knew that it was not about who was right or wrong. It was mainly because the General didn’t want to be seen by others as having been shown up by Damon. As result of this he was made an example of and this lead to his grounding. At first he was confined to his quarters but later Damon relented a bit, however not entirely. So in an effort to keep from going stir crazy he volunteered to work in the maintenance bay. Besides flying he was really good at fixing things, and it showed in the two droids he’d built. …though he got his share of jeers because of this, and to most they are nothing more than a collection of spare parts that work.

After seeing the feat he’d achieved with only mere scraps from broken droids the General agreed that this was best way for him to be useful. Later Damon was given permission to run supervised test flights of the craft he worked on. Though it was not a mission to him, it was still nice to be back in the cockpit in some fashion. Between the test flights and the simulator he did his best to stay sharp to be ready should he be called upon. Although he and the General didn’t always agree, he respected him highly.

He was also grateful for all that the General had done for him, even though it didn’t seem that way at times. Of course Damon would never freely admit this. …at least not on his own. He did what he could to help in anyway possible in light of his current status. Today was also a special day of sorts as he’d finally get to work on his own ship. It took some time to get it here and it had only just arrived a few days ago. It was an YT-2000 Corellian transport named the Aireus which once belonged to his late father. This was the only real possession he had to remember his family by and he was honored to have it.

As soon as the fighters and the other equipment were all taken care of, he started assessing the Aireus’ systems. Damon walked around the ship while calling up to Patch to hit certain switches. “Good. Next one. …alright next…next.” Suddenly, whirring and clanking sounds could be heard. “No not that…” He started to holler as he was enveloped by a cloud of smoke and dust. It took a few moments for the smoke to clear and the dust to settle before he soon came back in to view. He was waving his hands in a pointless effort to help clear the smoke and dust from his face. He was coughing, as well, due to inhaling a good portion of the junk his ship had just spit out. He also was now covered head to toe in black soot and could most likely pass as someone’s shadow.

“Hey, Lightwind!” Another officer called.

“I’m alright!” Damon answered in a raspy tone, still coughing and trying to catch his breath.

“Glad to hear it! …but that’s not what I was calling you for. I was told to tell you General Long wants to see you. ASAP!” The officer added.

“Understood. I’m on my way,” Damon replied, still sounding raspy. In the back of his mind he was thinking what did I do …or not do… this time? as he headed to the General’s office. He had wanted to clean up a bit but thought it was best not to keep him waiting.

-=Major General Shane Long’s Office=-
…A few moments later.

Shane was going over several data pads he’d just received went there was a buzz at the door. “Enter!” He hollered, while continuing to review the data pads.

Damon said, still sounding a bit raspy, as he entered still covered in soot and dust, “Reporting as you requested, Sir.”

“Good! You’re here. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Shane replied while not even stopping to look up. Damon stood there as he watched Shane shuffle through the piles of data pads in front of him. He did his best to fight the urge to cough until he could not fight it any longer.

“Captain. I haven't forgotten that your there, and you don’t have to cough to get my attention.” Shane said while, again, not glancing up.
Still coughing a bit Damon replied, “That’s not why I’m coughing sir.”

Shane was about to ask him why he was coughing, but when he looked up he was surprised by Damon’s current state. “By the force! What happen to you?” He asked instead.

“Well, sir. I was knocking the cob webs out of the Aireus when I got word you called for me.” Damon answered.

“That must have been some cob web you found. And why didn’t you get cleaned up first?” Shane asked.

“I thought it was best not to keep you waiting sir.” Damon replied.
Shane smiled, shook his head, and then tossed him a rag then said, “Fair enough. Wipe off your face so I can see you, because you’re blending in with the walls.”

Damon caught the rag, and took a moment to clean his face.

“Good. Now I can get to the reason I called you here.” Shane added.
“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Damon asked.

“Well… maybe because our meetings of late have not always ended well.” Shane said as he leaned back in his chair and looked at him sternly.

This kind of stare made Damon feel a bit uneasy and he shifted his focus in an effort to try to counter it. It was a feeling he got use to having when Shane looked at him that way, mostly because of his clouded left eye. Shane had injured that eye on a mission some time ago and even though he couldn’t see out of it that well, its gaze was still quite intimidating. Damon also knew that he could still fly circles around most pilots, even with only one good eye.

After a few moments of pondering Shane asked, “What am I going to do with you?” He paused thoughtfully, and then added. “Or what should I do with you?”

Damon was puzzled, and was not sure if he should even respond, but he did. “Sir… what do you mean?”

“Well, let’s see… for starters… I have standing in front of me an officer that is a bit of an enigma. On one hand he has great potential as a pilot and a mechanic, which he has demonstrated great skill in both on many occasions. On the other hand, he’s a loner, argumentative, moody, reckless at times, and a loose cannon of sorts.” Shane explained.

“Ok. I was unaware it was assessment time.” Damon retorted.
“Well… it kind of is, because something has come down from up high, and I have some decisions to make.” Shane said.

Damon was now getting frustrated with what he deemed a cryptic grilling, and snaped back, “So which is it this time? That mission again; or reminding me of the losses in my life one more time? If that is where we are heading with…..”

“Enough!!!!” Shane hollered and pounded his fist on his desk once, which made a loud thud. Shane then took a moment, and said, “This is what I was talking about! You’re too easily flustered, and you assume too much, instead of fully listening. You also have no idea how much others respect you around here. In fact, I hear some are even jealous about what you can do.” Shane sighed, then continued, “You’re not the only one who’s lost loved ones because of the Empire.”

“Sir. With all due respect… that may be true, but how many can say they lost everyone all at once? Hell. You’re the only one left I could really consider… family.” Damon replied.

“Fair enough. But answer me this. If that’s how you look at it, then why do you give me so much grief?” Shane asked.

“Honestly, sir… I don’t know. Maybe having everything that ever meant anything to you taken away like that can change a person,” Damon said, beginning with a snappy tone before pausing moment to sigh, and then continued. “However… I am grateful for all you have done for me since then.”

“Granted, you've been through some hardships, and, yes, more than most should ever have to endure. However, constantly dwelling on them is not going to help matters.” Shane said. After brief pause Shane continued on, “Further more, I don’t think you realize the tough spots you put me in by your actions of late. If any other CO were in my position they’d have had shot you out of a turbo laser by now. Or have had your hide in a sling for your attitude and some of things you’ve pulled.”

Damon thought about responding verbally but instead just nodded.

Shane again pondered a moment then continued, “If not for the promise I made to your folks, oh so long ago, I’d have done the same by now. Also the connection you and I share is why I’ve had to be tougher on you than any one else here.” The general thought for a moment. “I called you here to explain what’s going on, and hope to get to the bottom of the tension between us.”

Damon again said nothing and just nodded.

“I’ve tried to guide you in the right direction, and help you where and when I could. Have I not?” Shane asked.

“Yes, sir, you have. …more times then I can remember, I’m sure.” Damon answered.

Shane went on, “You also had an opportunity four years ago to leave, yet you choose to stay and join the fight. I was happy to see you take such interest in things again, and I didn’t question it back then. However, I’m now starting to have my doubts about allowing you to do that.”

“Sir you don’t really mean that…. do you?” Damon asked.

“Sorry, but, yes, that is truly how I feel about it. Back then I asked you not to make this in to your own personal vendetta. I also told you that you each unit works as team and needs to be interactive in all they do to be successful. You’ve got to learn be a little more interactive with others it might make things a bit easier for you down the road.” Shane explained.

Damon snaps back. "I do interact with others! And quite often, I might add."

"Only when you have to. Other than that, you seem to keep your distance." Shane countered, with a stern look.

Damon didn't really want to explain about this, but knew Shane would only continue to persist if he didn't. "I don't want to lose anyone else. …I don't thing I could take it."

"So there is root of the problem. Right there. And why you're so bitter at times. I also think you put too much pressure on yourself.” He paused to consider. “If this is some so called hero trip, or death wish, it's not healthy. If that is indeed the case it explains your recklessness in your flying style. However you're going to have to come to terms with these problems at some point." Shane pointed out.
Damon pondered a moment, and responded again with a snap in his tone.

"Sir, it's not like that. And it's just that I can't sit idly by watch others die, if I'm able to do something about it. If I'm wrong for thinking this way, then so be it. Also, if given a similar situation, I'd most likely do the same thing again and again.” Damon paused. “It's not a death wish. It's then that I actually when I feel the most alive. If in the end it gets me killed, then hopefully others will be spared, and I'll finally be at peace."

Shane shook his head, sighed, and said. "That's honorable. …foolish …but honorable. You're also not making things easy for me by saying that, and could keep you grounded indefinitely as a result. However. In light of the current state of things, it's no longer my decision to make."

Damon, now puzzled by what was last said, took a moment and asked. "Sir, what do you mean by that?"

"Well… First off you were correct about this being an assessment of those under my command. Secondly... All these data pads in front of me are reassignment orders for each person here. In the next several days a new command staff will take over this post, as well, new personnel. Each of you will be leaving for your new assignments starting in a few days from now. Unlike the rest of you, I will remain here until after the change of command takes place. I will then help the new CS get settled in. And once that has been accomplished… I will retire." Shane explained.

Damon stunned by the news, looked at Shane and asked "So this is the last we will see of each other then?"

"Yes. I believe it will be. And as such, my promise to your family, as well as you, has been fulfilled. I have done all I can do for you, and now it's up to you where you go from here. Also, keep in mind, that I will be including my assessment with your orders for your new CO. I wish I could hold this back in some way, but I'm mandated to full disclosure in this regard. This may make things difficult for you in the beginning, but I'm confident you'll work around it." Shane said with calm finality.

“I understand, sir, and thank you again for everything. I also wish you good luck where ever you go." Damon said.

"Thanks. I wish the same for you. Just remember the things we've discussed, and you'll be fine.” Shane said.

"I will, sir. And if I forget, I'm sure your words will haunt my dreams to remind me." Damon agreed.

Shane laughed, and asked. "Could you please do me one last favor before you get to your next post?"

"Yes sir." Damon answers.

"Lose the beard and the hair. It will make for a better first impression." Shane requested.

Damon nodded, and snapped off a salute, which Shane quickly returned.

"Captain you're dismissed!!" Shane bellowed.

Damon dropped his salute, turned and walked out.

-=Main hangar, Asteroid base (AS – 11642)=-
2 days later:

Damon, now clean cut and shaven, loaded the last of his personal effects onto the Aireus. The last two days seamed to fly by and he spent most it repairing his ship for the journey. His departure time was now drawing near and was only a few moments away. He could not help but feel more alone now than when he lost his family and everything he knew. Of course this was different, because back then he had at least had Shane to lean on for support. In a short time he'd be losing himself in sense as well. With the mixed range of emotions he was feeling currently, though, he didn't show it was getting tougher keep it together. For not only would he be leaving the only post he'd ever known, but the final link to his troubled past as well. The one thing that helped Damon to keep from losing it was that soon he'd be flying again. Still not a mission, but not a supervised test flight, either. Nor would it be a simulator run. This time he'd be out there in his dad's old ship.

Soon Patch came back out in to the hanger and said, "Everything is loaded and secure, sir."

"Good. Thank you, Patch. Now get back on board; we'll be getting under way shortly," Damon ordered. Patch nodded and headed back into the Aireus. After he had disappeared from view, Damon took one last long look around, and turned to board as well.

An officer ran over before the hatch could close. "Captain Lightwind, the General wanted me to give you these data pads. He also wanted you to take that container,” he pointed to one across the bay, “with you, as well. It's got supplies you'll need. This data pad will explain about that. The other two are you orders and other info for you new CO."

"Understood. And thank you." Damon said.

"Your welcome, Sir. And good luck!" The officer added.

Damon smiled, nodded once then boarded the Aireus. "Ok. That's not what I was expecting.” He paused. “I hope I remember how to capture a container." Damon thought aloud as sat down in the pilot's seat.

"Sir. Is there anything I can help you with?" Patch asked.

"Not right at the moment, but thanks for asking." Damon replied.

After a few minutes, Damon had the Aireus fired up, and was standing by when a voice came over the comm. "Transport Aireus. The lane is clear. You are go for capture op."

"Roger. Proceeding with the capture op." Damon responds. He lifted the Aireus off the deck and slowly made his way toward the container.
As soon he was in position, Patch said. "All systems look good, and you are on line for capture, Sir."

"Ok. Let's do this, then, shall we?" Damon said with a little excitement in his tone.

A moment later he had it captured, and was turning toward the exit of the hanger. "Transport Aireus to Control. Capture op complete, and ready for departure." Damon called over the comm.

A minute went by, then the reply came. "Transport Aireus. You are clear for departure. Good luck, Captain!"

Damon smiled and realized it was Shane who had given him the clearance to go. "Thank you, Sir! And I wish the same to you! It's been an honor to have been stationed here." With that, he closed the channel and was off and running. Damon was quite familiar with the challenges of maneuvering through the asteroid belt. This was even more of a challenge with a container attached, but he managed to compensate for it.

But Patch did not take well to this kind of flying and the unorthodox maneuvers it entailed at times. "Sir! My circuits can't take much more of this! Oh no we're done for!"

"Patch. Calm down! You’re not making this any easier for me by panicking." Damon said as he dodged two asteroids with a cork screw, zigzag maneuver. Soon they were finally clear of the asteroid belt, and no one was happier about this more than Patch.

"Ok. We're clear, and still in one piece. See? I told you there was nothing to panic about." Damon said jeeringly. Patch said nothing, and only shook his head. "Ok. Scrappy. Enter the coordinates, and start the calculations for the jump to hyper space." Damon called out. The multi colored dumpy looking astro droid let out a series of beeps and whistles a short time later.

"Scrappy says it will take several days for us to reach our destination." Patch translated.

"Well… I never thought it was going to be a short journey." Damon replied.

Soon the pin holes in the curtain of space started to blur, and they were off.

Now that they were underway, he had Patch keep an eye on things for a bit. Damon was going to get some rest, but then remembered about the data pads he was given. He decided to see what the importance of the container he had to take was. Once he found the data pad that had the info on it he started to read:

Greetings Captain,

Now that you on your way, you're probably wondering why I had you take that container with you. I will explain that in a moment. I'll just start by saying that you have had your share of ups and downs. Not only well under my command, but in life in general.

Somehow in spite of most of your indiscretions, you’ve had more positive moments overall – one of which, is that you’ve made this the best maintained unit I've ever been a part of. For this, I thank you, and I want you to take some pride in that fact, and I hope that you build on it. This I know you can do, and, as my last effort to help you in this capacity, I've had encased in this container. Like I said before, I don't know if my assessment of you will hold you back in some way. Again, this is something I wish I could hold back, but, alas, I can not. However. I think if you show what you do can with mere scraps, like you did here, it can only help you going forward.

So now I leave you the last thing you were working on for us before you left. Yes. That's right! The X-Wing you were working on is now with you. I know it's not in working order yet, but if anyone can get it to work, I know you can. I'm not sure if you have all the parts you need to complete it are there, but I made sure that all the parts around your work station were included.

Anyway. I know you've had a hard go of things in life, but know this… I miss them too. Your family was like family to me, as well, and, even though I don't show it, I feel that pain as well, though unlike you, I can't express this the way you can, nor am I in the position to do so. For me that would show a sign of weakness that would not instill confidence in those I command or serve with. And it would make others around me think I'd gone soft, or something, and I can't have that.

Anyway. I'd like you to look at that X-Wing not as an ending, but as a symbol of a new beginning. With that, I wish you luck, and hope things will improve for you going forward.

May the force be with you.

Sincerely,
MGN Shane Long
AS – 11642 (The Rock)
Commanding

After Damon finished reading he just smiled and said to the data pad, "You…? Gone soft…? Now that's a laugher!" Though reading Shane's final words to him made him feel a little better, he was still worried; mostly due to the uncertainty of what to expect once he got to where he was going. He wrestled with this for a bit, until finally he drifted off to sleep.

-=Aboard the Mon Cal Cruiser, Odin=-
Several days later:

At last Damon had arrived, and was happy that the journey was over; mostly because of dealing with his two droid’s constant debates over who was more useful, and it was becoming maddening. Aside from that, the rest of the trip was uneventful, during which Damon spent most of the time contemplating what he was going to be doing next.

As he exited the Aireus, he could not help but feel a bit overwhelmed by how big the Odin was – this was mostly because it was the first time he'd ever been on a Mon Cal Cruiser before. Prior to his arrival on the Odin, the closest he'd been to one was during a mission some time ago. Of course, back then he'd only caught a glimpse of it from a distance and never really was able to gauge how big it was.

As he stood there in awe of his surroundings, he found himself again lost in a daze of sorts. This didn't last too long, because he noticed the deck officer approaching him, and then turned his attention to greeting him.

"Greetings, Captain! And welcome aboard the Odin!" The deck officer said cordially.

"Thank you. It's good to be here." Damon replied

"You'll have to report to in with Admiral Borran at once." The officer informed him.

"Understood. You'll have to forgive me, but where can I find the Admiral?" Damon asked hesitantly.

The deck officer smiled and asked. "First time on a Mon Cal, huh?"

"Yes, it is. And I'm sorry to say it's a bit overwhelming, to say the least." Damon answered.

With a bit of a laugh the deck officer said. "Yes, it can be. I’ll find someone to escort you to the bridge."

"Thank you, very much." Damon said.

The deck officer walked off a short way, and Damon turned to Patch. "You and Scrappy stay with the ship. I'll come and get you after I report in."

Patch nodded, handed Damon the two data pads he needed to report in with, and then headed back inside the Aireus.

Moments later the deck officer returned followed by another officer who appeared to be as young if not younger than Damon himself. "Ok. The Lieutenant, here, will take you up to see the Admiral," the deck officer said.

"Thank you, again." Damon replied.

"Captain, before you go, I'm curious what's up with the container you brought with you?" The deck officer asked politely.

Damon let out a bit of a chuckle and said, "It's hard to explain, really. I was told to take it with me at the last moment. Mostly, it just contains spare parts." Damon answered, slightly embarrassed. The deck officer looked puzzled by his response, and turned and walked away.

Damon turned to the Lieutenant and said, "Lead the way!"

The Lieutenant, looking a little nervous, said. "Oh, yeah. Right. We mustn't keep the Admiral waiting."

Damon smiled, and then said, "I don't know who's more nervous… me, or you." The Lieutenant smiled and seemed to relax a bit after that. As they both walked through the corridors of the Odin Damon asked the Lieutenant more about it. He felt by doing this it help put both of them at ease, and he could learn a little more about the Odin as well.
Damon was still having his moments of being in awe as the Lieutenant explained things as they waked on. So much so, even, that Damon was prone to being in periodic dazes where he almost ran in to people at times. Soon they arrived on the bridge, and Damon again fell in to one of those said dazes he was not watching where he was going. He continued to walk forward as he looked around in amazement at his surroundings.

He almost reached the door to the Admiral’s office when the Lieutenant hollered out. "Captain! Watch out!!!" But it was already too late as Damon suddenly felt his knees hit something hard, stopping his forward motion. As a result, this sent the data pads he had in his hand flying one way, and him flying head over tail in the other.

He hit the floor with a hard thud, knocking the wind out of him for a moment. After a few gasps for breath, he suddenly had a sense of the eerie silence now taking place around him. He picked himself off the floor, and noticed all eyes were uncomfortably trained upon him. He finally looked around to see what he'd ran into that sent him flying. His heart sank as he noticed a man sitting in a wheeled chair gazing sternly at him. By they way everyone was looking at him, and the silence in the room, it didn't take him long to deduce what he'd done. The man in the wheeled chair he'd bumped into could be none other then Admiral Borran himself.

As he stood there, now frozen with fear and embarrassment, Damon thought to himself, "So this is how it starts, once again!!"

*****

PSG XA.01 - Restock Starfighters

“Alrighty. Jairo… El Duro, I believe your call-sign is…”

“Yes, Sir.” He waited expectantly.

Spokes looked at Castor. Now what are you going to do… written all over his face. Castor knew it was there, and didn’t have to look at him to see it.

“We have a…” Castor searched for the right word, “delicate…” it wasn’t the right one, but would have to do, “situation, where the investigation is concerned.” Greedo didn’t interact much with the rest of the Rebel Squadrons, and there was a very good reason for it. More or less it was by tacit mutual agreement. Most of the officers didn’t care for the dressings down – which almost always were the result of a chance meeting – and it didn’t matter much how far the ‘dressed’ outranked Greedo. Put simply, Greedo96 was a reprehensible being; he fought for what he believed in, tooth and nail. …along with any other weapon he may have hidden on his person… and he considered himself Always Right. If you looked in the pedia, his picture was right there with the entry for Infallible Leadership. …which was generally considered to be the Worst Management Style. But if you were under Greedo’s command, then you either dealt with it, or he took it out on you physically. More than a few officers had been transferred out of Greedo’s units by way of the bacta tanks.

The only reason Greedo still had a position in the Rebel Squadrons was that… he wasn’t wrong. He really was Always Right. …at least he’d not been proven wrong yet. And Greedo was in charge of the investigation part of this action. Spokes and Castor were needed only to carry out the responses to what ever Greedo found out, and keep those responses within the Rebel Squadrons mandate. Greedo wasn’t real big on H.I.E.R. – particularly the Equanimity and Respect parts. …which would seem to contradict the Honesty and Integrity parts. But it didn’t. Not in Greedo’s case. He was quite Honest about telling you what he thought about your intelligence, capabilities and even your possible genetic lineage.

“Do you know anything about General Greedo?” Castor asked.

“No, sir.”

“Then you’re probably one of the lucky ones,” Castor sighed. “I would be one of the ones not so lucky, and it’s my task to make sure that the MedTechs only have to deal with injuries caused in combat situations with the enemy. …if you take my meaning.

“General Greedo has an underground network that is quite extensive, and the investigation is well in progress. I will forward your request to work him, if you so desire, but I highly advise against it. To date, I am the only being who has ever held a position under Greedo that he can tolerate for any length of time. And I assure you I keep that time minimized as much as possible.”

Castor watched Jairo’s eyes shift their focus to the scars on Castor’s face and hands. In reality, they didn’t actually have anything to do with Greedo, but the effect was the one Castor was hoping for.

“Maybe if I submit an overview of my suggestions in writing…” Jairo ventured tentatively.

“I think that would be a fine idea,” Castor smiled. “I will put it on his desk, personally. Can you have it for me by the end of our briefing tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir.” Jairo responded confidently.

“I look forward to it, then, El Duro.” Castor saluted. Jairo returned the salute, and turned to salute Spokes, who returned it quite seriously. Jairo turned and exited smartly. Neither Spokes not Castor moved for a few seconds, both looking at the closed door.

“You’re really going to do that?” Spokes asked lightly.

“Yes, Sir,” Castor answered seriously.

“What do you think about Tex?” He ventured.

“Tex is a victim of unfortunate circumstances. He may have a confidence issue, which is unjustified.”

“Really?” Spokes asked. “In what way?”

Castor turned to Spokes and replied, “Greedo has already investigated the incident. I’m not exactly sure what he found out, but what he said was ‘he’ll do’ ”.

Spokes nodded thoughtfully, and came out from behind the desk. “Buy you a drink?”

“In preparation to meet Greedo, I’m not sure if that’ll help or harm,” Castor said thoughtfully.

“What’s the worst he can do?” Spokes asked. “Kill you?”

“Well, yes.” Castor answered as he followed the Admiral out. “There is that.”

The crash that followed wasn’t an explosion, but, after the fact, could have been described as the imagined implosion of an officer’s own future. Castor easily caught the two flying datapads, one in each hand. The young man picked himself up off the floor – clearly one of the new pilots – and looked around confusedly for a second or two. When he turned and saw what he’d tripped over, Castor could see the new officer applying that same description to the moment.

Castor looked at the info on the datapads, and handed one to Admiral Borran. “Admiral. This is Captain Lightwind.” Spokes took the pad without taking his eyes off the Captain. To the new pilot Castor said, “Welcome aboard, Captain,” and saluted the officer who slowly returned the salute as if it might be the last action he ever took. “Admiral Borran and I were just on our way down to the Bar And Grill. Would you care to join us?”

Captain Lightwind made a sound that sounded like a cross between a strangled groan and a squeak.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Castor said, and Spokes resumed his roll toward the bridge exit.

The short ride in the turbolift wasn’t long enough for Captain Lightwind to will himself out of existence. …or, at least, another place and time, had that ability even been humanly possible.

-----

Spokes rolled to the center of the briefing room floor and stopped before the pilots gathered. Castor stood behind him, and to the right, his hands clasped behind his back. The volunteers had been trickling in since Castor’s note went out. Some of the pilots had been rejected – of those, some hadn’t actually been pilots, and some had a deeply rooted conspiracy paranoia thing going on. War wasn’t pretty, and this one had been spanning a galaxy. Castor was reasonably comfortable with all the pilots present. The pilots ranged in a quarter circle in the seats of the Odin’s Briefing room, some with their feet up on the backs of the seats in the row in front of them.

“I’d like to thank you all for volunteering for this mission,” Spokes began, “but I won’t.” He paused. “I won’t because it would be somewhat presumptuous of me. I understand, even if you don’t, that I have probably already condemned a number of you to your deaths. I’m not particularly happy about that, and I don’t believe in Acceptable Losses, but that fact is still unavoidable.”

“A commanding officer,” he scanned the faces in front of him, “isn’t supposed to say ‘I don’t know’, or anything remotely resembling that, but as you can see…” he indicated his wheelchair, “some things can’t be foreseen and they can change your life forever as easily as end it.” Spokes paused for a moment, almost as if he’d lost his train of thought and was stuck somewhere between now and then. “That being said…” he continued, “we don’t know what we’re looking for, and we don’t know how to find out exactly what we don’t know. So, we’re going to pursue the rumor, and see where it takes us.”

“Rumor, sir?” Remus asked.

“A rumor,” Spokes responded pointedly, silently reminding him that their earlier conversation should be held in confidence. “Which is all we have, and exactly why the Rebellion Command won’t go any where near it.” He took a deeper breath. “The Death Star, having been destroyed so recently by Luke Skywalker, was supposed to be the power of the Emperor. Its destruction was supposed to give the Empire the idea that it is vulnerable and let it know that the Rebellion is a force to be reckoned with.” He swiveled his chair a little, as if in annoyance, but really just to reposition his ass in the chair. “As we all have seen, the Emperor is as strong as ever and he has redoubled his efforts to exterminate us.” He swiveled his chair slightly again. “And, as we all have seen, it’s been working. He’s quite comfortable in his superiority – which is, in itself, another reason why Command doesn’t want to hear it.”

“Seems Command has its hands full as it is,” Tex said.

“Yes,” Spokes agreed, “which leaves it up to us.”

“So why doesn’t the RS Command get involved?” Andrew Astoris asked.

“This isn’t the only Nerf steak on their plate,” Spokes answered.
“And they are involved …to a degree. …That’s why we have it.”

“You mean that RS Command is busy, and this is the best way to keep the bunch of us out of their hair,” Damon said, having decided to remain in this place and time. …he had apparently come to grips with his failed attempt at self extinction by thought. …or the cessation thereof by will power alone.

“That must be why transferring to the Odin was so easy,” Remus offered.

“Hey. Keeps us off the streets,” Mike said. A short chorus of chuckles followed.

“Yes,” Spokes interjected, “it does. And to that end, since actual combat has been light in this sector, I’ve had Castor working on some ComTacs for you. When on duty, and not in a starfighter cockpit, I want you in the Sim room, logging hours.” The short chorus, this time, was groans, not chuckles.

“Wonderful,” Mike said, “I’ve seen some of his ComTacs.”

“So have I,” Spokes agreed again. “And I’m not particularly fond of them either.” He sighed. “On the other hand, I’m going to be right there, too. I don’t believe in unnecessary corporal punishment, and if I’m along side you in The Chamber, then you can’t very well accuse me of it.” He tossed his chin back over his shoulder. “Him, however…” This time there were chuckles. “And speaking of him… Admiral, would you be so kind?”

“Thank you, Admiral.” Castor stepped up and stood by the holoprojector. “Since our last tour left us low on starfighters, RS Command has scheduled a delivery of new ones. Since the Repairs and Maintenance Crew still has most of the rest of our remaining starfighters down, you’ll be flying a flight of three A Wings in what should be a fairly routine restocking mission.

“There has been no Imperial threat in this sector since we finished with Kedrin and his small band of ex Generals. We do, however, need to resupply the Odin. The starfighters will arrive first.

“From what I understand, there will be fifteen A Wings, fifteen X Wings, and fifteen B Wings arriving each in three waves. We are not expecting any trouble, but we shouldn't take any chances with them. We’re told that’s all they have to give us.” Castor nodded at Spokes. “Admiral…”

“You’re assignments are on your datapads,” Spokes said. “Dismissed.” The pilots got up and filed out, checking their datapads as they left.

-----

Castor followed Spokes into his office. “You really think somebody’s going to take your bait?” Spokes rolled into the slot behind the desk, and keyed in the sequence that lit up the console.

“Well,” Castor hesitated, “that would be another one of those I don’t know things. All we can do is hope the word spread enough to attract the attention of whoever has any connection to the weapon.”

“Hope is not something I really like relying on, but since we don’t have much else to run with, I supposed anything is better than nothing.” Spokes sighed. “I meant what I said about not believing in Acceptable Losses.”

“I’m right there with you on that one,” Castor said. “I have a lot of confidence in the pilots we’ve got.” Castor paused. “And once they start running my ComTacs, they’ll be even better.”

“Or they’ll die of strokes in the Combat Chamber or simple dehydration from sweating.” Spokes cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve got a sadistic streak in you that isn’t buried all that deep.”

“Yah. Well. At least all the starfighters we lose in the Combat Chamber are all only virtual. And they won’t end up in the bacta tanks regrowing parts.” Castor said.

“Only because you can’t grow parts to fix brain aneurisms.”

It sounded a lot like Spokes was serious. But Castor decided it was because Spokes just didn’t like flying the ComTacs any more than anyone else did. He’d made the ComTacs brutally hard, but doable. …mostly… Most pilots who passed them usually stayed in their chamber cockpit for a few minutes trying to get their nerves back into some semblance of normalcy after the mission ended. But while the circumstances of the ComTacs remained constant, you still had to be practically omniscient to avoid being blasted into little tiny pieces.

The ComTacs were designed so that if you were familiar with the strengths and weaknesses of every craft you might encounter, particularly the one you were sitting in, the better chance you had of being able to improvise your actions and reactions to a point where very little could prevent you from achieving whatever goal was set before you. Repetition of runs instilled the confidence in yourself and your starfighter to know what risks you could and should take, and which ones might be just plain suicidal or worse.

Castor had run them all himself and made them harder and harder until he couldn’t pass them every time – which amounted to hundreds of runs for each mission, multiple hundreds of sim hours logged, and scores of hours dealing with enough adrenalin in his system afterward to make his teeth buzz.

Aneurisms…?

Probably not.

Castor knew exactly what Spokes was talking about, though. The concentration required to just pass a ComTac, and the amount of time one was required to maintain that level of concentration caused a few pilots to have to be forcibly removed from the combat chamber and sedated for a few days.

…but those were the extreme cases.

“So, I should make them easier?” Castor asked.

“Absolutely not,” Spokes answered. “Just don’t expect anyone you subject to those to pull your butt out of a tight spot.”

“Ah.” Castor, for a moment, considered making the ComTacs easier.

“Besides,” Spokes continued, “I’m going to have Squelch search the source to see if you built in any cheat codes I can use.”

Castor laughed. “I didn’t.”

“I didn’t think so.” Spokes put his forehead down on his desk.

==============